Broken
by londongrammar
Summary: A look into the minds of Hermione and George as they deal with Fred's death. Will a trip to his grave make them see some sense in their spiral of depression? Prequel to 'Fix You', written for the Writing Quotes challenge on the HPFC. Hr/F.


Broken

This is the prequel for my story 'Fix You', it basically delves into Hermione and George's minds as they suffer through their depression after Fred's death.  
Written for the Writing Quote challenge by SoUsay234  
Prompt(s): Time, photograph, tingle

* * *

Hermione Granger was waiting on something that was never going to return to her. The thing that she both loved and hated most. The man she despised more than anything in the entire world, the man that had broken her. He'd taken half of the pieces as well, the git. Oh how she hated Fred Weasley for leaving her.

Hours, wasted, spent, whichever word she felt like using waiting for him. Bags under her eyes and a hole in her heart. She would look at her favourite picture of him and felt like being sick. Maybe it would relieve the pain she was feeling, a sore stomach and a burning throat instead of a broken heart.

God, where was the Firewhiskey when you needed it?

Confessions of how much she loved and missed him were kept locked away in a diary, hidden at the bottom from her trunk from everyone else in the world.

Who knew how long she'd spent writing in that book—not that anyone did know of course. So many pages she had torn out in sheer frustration when she couldn't covey the messages she desired, the messages that would remain forever unread.

Empty ink bottles and broken quills scattered upon the once tidy desk, black marring the wooden surface, sunken in deep. Candles were burnt down to nothing, wax was almost everywhere, she would nervously pick at it, as if it were a substitute for a scab that couldn't be found anywhere on the outside, a scab that kept bleeding; an ugly scab that would turn into an even uglier scar.

She would wrap herself up in the clothes he had left behind, but they didn't make her feel any warmer. The slightest breeze from an open window would chill her to the bone. Maybe that was a good thing, perhaps then she'd feel something else instead of the pain that was going on inside her heart.

She just wanted to be numb. Was that too much to ask? Was it too much to pray that God or Merlin or whoever would just end her miserable existence?

How long had she been in this bed? She couldn't remember. She only saw the blurs of concerned faces and looks of pity her friends gave her.

Greens eyes, brown eyes, blue eyes. Black hair in a sea of red. So much red.

Then there was the earless boy. The one that looked so much like him.

Was it wrong to call him a boy? Something like death like death certainly changes a person, but then again would she still call herself a girl? So many questions, and she had so few answers, for the first time in her life she couldn't answer anything that was directed at her. She felt useless and she hated it. Hated knowing that there was nothing she could say or do to make it go away. To make it stop hurting.

He visited her, the earless boy that looked so much like him.

George.

They never talked, never did anything but sit in silence. One of them, maybe both of them would start crying, but they were, like the atmosphere silent. Secret, but clearly marking their faces. They had both lost their entire world. That happy, loud, boisterous boy who could light up a room just by entering it,

No, words were forbidden, If they spoke, all that hurt and pain would unleash itself all over again, like the vicious beast it was.

George. The earless boy. The survivor.

She hated herself for thinking it, but once—just once, she wished it had been him that had died, him that wall had fallen on, but when she looked at him she knew he felt exactly the same, and she felt horrified with herself for thinking that. What had he done ever done wrong, what crimes had he committed?

_None._

But then again, what had Fred done?

Oh what a mess he had left behind. A mess that could never be cleaned up or tidied away, but only swept under the carpets of their hearts.

Sleep was beginning to blur with reality and dreams were seemingly becoming real. Hermione would go to sleep, and the earless boy would have his other ear and become hers again. George would go to sleep, and dream that the figure in the bed opposite him was his twin, his best friend.

Thy would both wake up sweating, not daring to open their eyes, even in the dark in case they didn't like what they saw, the dust of dreams still clinging onto their eyelids, yet morning would inevitably come and they would be forced to open them. How hard they tried to hate the person opposite them, failing every time .

Here they sit: The broken girl, Hermione Granger, and the earless boy, George Weasley.

They don't speak. They don't move. They do nothing but grieve.

One day they went to visit Fred in his final resting place under a tree in the vast garden of the Burrow and finally, the silence is broken, the tears come pouring out and all of those feelings are once again unlocked from the safekeeping of the vault in their hearts.

Hermione knelt down by Fred's grave and whispered "I never stopped loving you, even when I tried desperately to forget you, I couldn't."

The wind was whispering through the leaves, as if they were passing the message onto Fred. She remembered his laugh, his smile, the was her skin would tingle and prickle with excitement every time he held her hand or kissed her.

"Why did you have to leave us? _Why?_" she started sobbing helplessly, her nails digging into the earth surrounding the grave, the orange nail varnish that Ginny had absentmindedly painted on the day of Fred's funeral was flaking away. Hermione and Ginny had been the cause of quite a few whispers when they walked out of the Burrow arm-in-arm wearing bright orange nail-varnish, not that they'd cared of course.

George just stood there thinking about how funny Fred would have found it. "Glad to see you're treating my grave with such respect:" He would have joked with a wink.

Suddenly something snapped inside of George and the next thing he knew he had grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and was shaking her.

Yes, the silence had definitely been broken; there would be no more safety blanket from here. They had been harshly pulled out of the deep waters they had aimlessly been floating around in and had been mercilessly tossed up on the beach, waterlogged and virtually useless.

"You think you're the only one who misses him? You think you're the only one who's hurting? DO YOU?"

"Of course not," she snapped viciously "but what do you expect me to do, dance around wearing nothing but a top hat singing 'Old MacDonald had a farm'?"

"I think it'd be a damn sight better than just sitting caved up in our room crying!" he retorted. Even as the words came out he knew what he said was wrong, but it was too late now, and he was going to get the reply he deserved.

"What the bloody hell do you think you've been doing then?" blood was pulsing through Hermione's ears, the echo's replaying over and over again in her mind.

'_God'_she thought '_Look at what we've become…'_

She never knew how it happened, but suddenly she was wrapped in George's embrace, crying all over again.

"I'm sorry," he said "I shouldn't have said that."

"S'alright." she mumbled against his chest.

And so, silence overtook them again. This time, however, it wasn't a sad silence, or a silence that would result in more pain and grieving. It was a silence of just _being there_ in that particular moment.

"Do you think it's going to get better one day?" George asked.

"I don't think it'll ever go away." she said honestly "We just have to make it better for our own sakes, or we'll just be stuck like this forever."

"Well Granger, you've never been wrong before," he said, giving a small smile, one that could barely be seen, but was there. A secret smile.

Hermione saw it, and she too smiled, it felt odd but in a way it felt right. They were two entirely different people who were feeling the exact same thing. Maybe Hermione was right, and that feeling would never truly go away but they can at least try and start healing now.

So here they stand: The earless boy and the now not-so broken girl, holding each other in a way that no other person except the one they lost could give them. It felt nice and it felt safe.

It was right where they needed to be.

* * *

I'm happy with this, it was enjoyable to write even though it's depressing, I'd defiantly call it one of my better fics. I hope you all enjoyed it and leave a review if you did!

Also, I just learnt that my mum is a Fremione shipper, she honestly just because about a thousand times cooler.


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